Buon pomeriggio, care amiche!
Novità in arrivo per chi legge in inglese: vi segnalo l’uscita di “LOW”, primo libro della nuova serie di Mary Elizabeth. Il romanzo è una
rivisitazione in chiave moderna della storia di Bonnie e Clyde. L’autrice ha
debuttato nel 2014 con la serie Dusty, composta dai due romanzi “Innocents” e
“Delinquents”. Segue la trama e un estratto.
Titolo: Low
Serie: Low #1
Autrice: Mary Elizabeth
Genere: Romantic Suspense
Pubblicazione: 1 Febbraio
Trama | E 'difficile vivere sul lato sbagliato della carreggiata. Lowen
Seeley ha precedenti penali che lo dimostrano. Deciso a non seguire le orme del
padre, combatte l'istinto e cerca di essere onesto. Ma la fame diventa
dolorosa, e le bollette devono essere pagate. Costretto a scegliere tra ciò che
è giusto e sbagliato, il ragazzo, provenendo da un quartiere degradato, impara che
il rispetto delle regole è quasi impossibile quando la corruzione ti scorre nel
sangue. Essersi innamorata di un fuorilegge ha cambiato tutto. Poesy Ashby è la
definizione di scappa o muori, anche quando significa voltare le spalle alla
libertà. La ragazza di periferia mostra alla conformità il dito medio. Bonnie e
Clyde non hanno niente a che fare con la sua storia d'amore. In fuga con
conseguenze che si possono vedere dallo specchietto retrovisore, Lowen e Poesy devono
accettare la verità: sono i cattivi. Ma potranno farla franca con i loro crimini?
ESTRATTO
da Low di Mary Elizabeth
da Low di Mary Elizabeth
“Keep the engine running,” I say. “If I’m not out in five minutes, leave.”
Poe nods her head, but doesn’t argue.
When the nine o’clock hour comes, both she and I watch the clock on the dashboard turn to one minute after.
“You’ll need to keep your mask on, Poesy. Make sure none of your hair is showing,” I say.
“Keep your head down the entire time.”
“Okay,” she answers in a small voice.
“If you see cops—”
“I know what to do, Lowen. I know you want me to leave you.” She sighs. “But I don’t know if I can.”
Despite our circumstances, I smirk. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”
At nine thirty, Poe and I switch seats, and she gets behind the wheel while I load the pistol. With hands that shake uncontrollably, I place the ski mask over my head but don’t pull it down my face. I help Poesy with hers, tucking in every stray strand of hair so they remain unseen.
She grabs my wrist, and our eyes meet. I see fear combined with love and loyalty in her stare.
I kiss her knuckles and promise with the chance of lying, “We’re going to be okay.”
Unlike when we drove into the garage, the streets are alive and filled with a variety of automobiles, and dirty sidewalks carry several pedestrians. The forty-second drive to the bank feels like forty years. Thick blood courses through my veins, and I feel it flow through arteries and vessels, nourishing muscle and bone. My head echoes with the thump, thump, thump of my hard heartbeat. Every breath is shallower than the one before it.
“Pull down your mask,” I say, but my voice sounds foreign and feels a million miles away. As Poe drives into California Credit Union’s parking lot, I grip the cold steel in my hand. The edges of my vision blur; I’m blinded by adrenaline.
My skin crawls like I’m covered in spiders; I’m delirious with edginess.
“Your ski mask,” Poesy shrieks. “Cover your fucking face, Lowen.”
My girl reaches over and pulls it down for me. The car stops to a screeching halt, and reality crashes into me in a brutal rush, stripping me of air and voice.
“If we’re in this, you need to go,” Poesy says in a calm but stern tone, hidden behind her black mask.
There’s peace in her eyes.
There’s strength in the girl who stayed with me when I was locked up.
The one who’s remained by my side, believing and starving all at the same time.
With the gun in my hand and determination in my heart, I leave Poesy in the car and push open the glass double doors into the bank.
As I step foot onto the burgundy carpet, I yell, “Everyone down on the fucking floor!”
Poe nods her head, but doesn’t argue.
When the nine o’clock hour comes, both she and I watch the clock on the dashboard turn to one minute after.
“You’ll need to keep your mask on, Poesy. Make sure none of your hair is showing,” I say.
“Keep your head down the entire time.”
“Okay,” she answers in a small voice.
“If you see cops—”
“I know what to do, Lowen. I know you want me to leave you.” She sighs. “But I don’t know if I can.”
Despite our circumstances, I smirk. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”
At nine thirty, Poe and I switch seats, and she gets behind the wheel while I load the pistol. With hands that shake uncontrollably, I place the ski mask over my head but don’t pull it down my face. I help Poesy with hers, tucking in every stray strand of hair so they remain unseen.
She grabs my wrist, and our eyes meet. I see fear combined with love and loyalty in her stare.
I kiss her knuckles and promise with the chance of lying, “We’re going to be okay.”
Unlike when we drove into the garage, the streets are alive and filled with a variety of automobiles, and dirty sidewalks carry several pedestrians. The forty-second drive to the bank feels like forty years. Thick blood courses through my veins, and I feel it flow through arteries and vessels, nourishing muscle and bone. My head echoes with the thump, thump, thump of my hard heartbeat. Every breath is shallower than the one before it.
“Pull down your mask,” I say, but my voice sounds foreign and feels a million miles away. As Poe drives into California Credit Union’s parking lot, I grip the cold steel in my hand. The edges of my vision blur; I’m blinded by adrenaline.
My skin crawls like I’m covered in spiders; I’m delirious with edginess.
“Your ski mask,” Poesy shrieks. “Cover your fucking face, Lowen.”
My girl reaches over and pulls it down for me. The car stops to a screeching halt, and reality crashes into me in a brutal rush, stripping me of air and voice.
“If we’re in this, you need to go,” Poesy says in a calm but stern tone, hidden behind her black mask.
There’s peace in her eyes.
There’s strength in the girl who stayed with me when I was locked up.
The one who’s remained by my side, believing and starving all at the same time.
With the gun in my hand and determination in my heart, I leave Poesy in the car and push open the glass double doors into the bank.
As I step foot onto the burgundy carpet, I yell, “Everyone down on the fucking floor!”
Biografia
Mary Elizabeth è un’autrice emergente che
trova ispirazione dal caos, per poi scrivere storie di scheletri nascosti negli
armadi. Conosciuta come The Realist, Mary è nata e cresciuta nella California
del sud. E’ moglie e madre di quattro bellissimi bambini. Di giorno fa la
parrucchiera, ma di notte si trasforma in un’autrice di narrativa contemporanea
e di romanzi new adult. Potete sorprenderla che si avvolge i capelli attorno alle
dita e mastica un bastone di liquirizia mentre scrive una frase più e più volte
finché non è perfetta.
GIVEAWAY
(Questo giveaway è internazionale - Tutte potete partecipare!!)
In palio una copia cartacea autografata del romanzo + 2 ebooks of Low
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